Merlin's Great Trick of Irony
by CyrusLestrange
Summary: Sirius Black has spent years coping with the luckless affliction that is unrequited love. In life's biggest irony, he was given the tools to win over every woman he has ever met... but was also gifted with the loyalty to never use them on the only one his heart has ever recognized.
1. Wedding Night

_This is going to be a collection of drabbles delving into the black, f***ed, but somehow completely endearing mind of Sirius..._

_ **J.K. Rowling** owns **all** of this. I'm just playing with it! _

**_Venia Amuletum_**_, my lovely BETA-ee, is responsible for this, because she completely enticed me into loving this particular version of Sirius Black with her stories. For those of you who have not read the Unbridled, it is about a version of the Marauders' time at school where Snape is not the only one in secret and forbidden love with Lily... while still remaining true to our faithful, stoic Sirius- who loves James more than anything in the world..._

_ A taboo thing to most fanfiction readers, but somehow completely fascinating to me. What's better than the combination of Sirius Black and unrequited love?_

_What's better than taking a handsome, over-confident, womanizing man, and putting him in a position where his feelings are out of control? Furthermore, one who is caught between these feelings he cannot get rid of, and his own sense of extreme loyalty and love for his best friend?_

_Too intruiging._

_Thanks to our chats about his character development I could not get him out of my head, and she graciously encouraged me to borrow him and take him for a spin-_

_This is going to be **dark**, (black, ha...) at times, light at others... just be warned. _

* * *

**1. Wedding Night****  
**

Rain sprayed across roof and window, like a thousand needles across precious metal, setting Sirius' teeth on edge. The sound felt like shrapnel and reminded him of the woodlice rice thrown by the little girls in pink at James and Lily's wedding. The needles closed in on his brain and heart.

His head was already throbbing from the countless ounces of liquor he had ingested in 'celebration', and his mind was becoming dangerously clear. He shifted restlessly between black satins sheets, feeling trapped by the heavy down quilt and the body next to him. She was beautiful, he supposed. The black of the night brought highlight to her dark lashes and wild curls, but she reminded him the smallest bit of Bellatrix, and that sent the most primal urges of man through him. He wanted to grab a fistful of that jungly hair, wanted to degrade her, and throw her bodily from his bed.

He hated Bellatrix with more passion than he had ever loved anything, save for the only thing he _should not_ love, and hate brought out the true Black in him, he supposed. Subtle incestual urges and all. His rapidly clearing mind wondered for a moment, _why_ his instinct to kill was so closely tied to his instincts to conjugate, but again, he supposed it was simply in his blood. Everything a Black did must be indusive of self-hate, or else they just might be in danger of giving up their money and power to join the world of the happy.

Sirius looked upon the girl next to him. _Angela_, he thought her name was. She had been sweet as an acid pop, vain and simple. She had cried during the vows, like a feeling person should, and had blushed when he approached her, like most young women did. She _had_ been sweet. Sirius wondered why he hated her so much.

He supposed it stemmed from the throbbing mess of nerve endings exposed in the vacuum of his chest. It had ended today. The thing that could never have started, that would, for him, _never_ really end- it had taken some sort of symbolic twist today.

Lily had been spine-tinglingly lovely in her gown today. The mess of his heart ached sharply, making him feel suddenly ill. James had looked handsome, he had looked happy. Sirius had been happy to see that, but he had also never hated him more.

He wondered how far a heart could split. Back, years ago, when his deviant mind had fallen victim to the powers of red hair and green eyes, he had thought that at some point his heart would go one way or the other. Then it had been subtle. He had _loved_ James as his only family, and Lily as a distant desire. It had been fairly simple. Now he could feel a constant duality in his heart that battled and battered him until he hated himself so much he could hardly breathe. He still loved James as the only true friend, Brother, and family member he had ever had- but _God_- he _hated_ him. With as much force as a bleeding and unrequited heart can love. That's how much he hated James sometimes.

The girl stirred in her sleep, sliding over black satin to nuzzle into Sirius Black's bed-warmed skin. He automatically stroked her hip with his thumb, feeling like a factory worker assembling the thousandth cheap toy of the day.

"… Mm- 'You still 'wake?" she murmured into his ear.

"No." he whispered flatly, staring at the high arched ceiling.

Her breathing deepened and she twitched gently against him, lost to sleep. He knew he would most likely not be joining her tonight, and settled for shutting his mind tightly against visions of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, radiant with love and the promise of a future.

He focused on the rain, spraying across roof and window, like a thousand needles across precious metal, his head throbbing, his teeth on edge.


	2. Light

**2. Light**

The sun was high in the sky, throwing rays of tinkling light through the intricate glass ceiling above them, and falling in heavenly patterns on the table between them.

James looked happy and healthy; his honeymoon had been a much needed break from the war. His skin shone, and his eyes were bright.

Sirius was hungover as all _hell_; he had been on double missions for the Order in James' absence, and had witnessed two deaths in those three short weeks. He scratched his stubbly chin, feeling both pleasure and discomfort in the rumble of his stomach, and the warm sun on his cotton clad back. He was at least, alive.

He smiled gently, as Prongs told him another anecdote from his and Lily's time in Croatia, sipping his orange juice and looking at James through one squinted eye. James was happy. That made some part of him happy.

"… and the entire load went smashing onto the deck- at least three tourists went slipping into the water. It was mayhem, mate. Lily wanted to divorce me in that moment, I think, but when the improper use of magic office didn't come pounding at our door, she eventually saw the humor in it."

James' eyes were twinkling, as if he were still looking out on a vast clear ocean. Sirius let out a bark of laughter, enjoying living vicariously, in a world of whimsy, free of war. He tried not to imagine what Lily looked like on a beach in a bathing suit, sun in red hair.

Their muggle waitress breezed over to put a steaming mug of tea down in front of Sirius, and a tiny coffee in front of James. She caught Sirius' eye as she did so- smiling shyly. Chestnut hair and chocolate eyes. Sirius smiled back, squinting against the sun and chuckling warmly at her sweet meekness. She bit her lip and hurried away.

"- And I see it has been business as usual back home," James said with amusement, watching her go. Sirius raised his eyebrows at the quip, nodding towards James' cup.

"Let me guess, Croatian fashioned?"

"A 'Cortado'."

"_How_ sophisticated."

Sirius smirked as James threw up a balled up piece of napkin at him. The anxious mess of his nerves was more calm, being around James again. Here, at least, was a friend to joke with- to direct some of the unbearable energy in his never-resting mind at.

"Lily wants to know how come you didn't write to her while we were gone," James said mock-sternly.

Sirius shifted in his seat, the sun catching his vision in a way that sent a stab of pain through his aching head.

"I'm sure she does," he said wryly, rolling his eyes. But really, his heart was twisting in that way that was both incredibly painful and incredibly, beautifully, pleasurable. He couldn't quite meet James' amused gaze, so he fixed his tea, cursing as he scalded himself, and spoke to his mug. "Tell her I was too busy making sure a few more Death Eaters would be dead upon your return home."

He said this mostly joking, but it was followed by stark silence.

"You really want me to tell her that?" James asked softly after a few moments, a little of the light notably gone from his eyes. Sirius instantly quelled inside, recognizing the Black stain he was putting on their newfound joy and ease.

"No," he muttered hastily, "sorry mate. That was morbid. You've been away from it all- I wasn't thinking. Tell her," he tried to grin at James, and put on a theatrical air, gesturing with his hands in a Shakespearian fashion, "that I missed her so much, I simply could not _bear_ to put pen to parchment."

It was actually not far from the truth. James chuckled and stirred his coffee, looking at Sirius exasperatedly and saying, "... Will do."

The light was back in his eyes and Sirius hoped it would stay there for as long as possible.


	3. Lily

**3. Lily**

Lily Evans was almost completely lacking in the two most basic social functions of _small-talk_ and _tact_, but there you go.

"You big stupid- _mutt-! _ -_You_ have been avoiding me."

She also struggled to find words when she was emotional, most often resulting in mild verbal abuse, but the way she would eventually splutter her on-the-spot choices with wide-eyed conviction always made it impossible to take offense.

Sirius couldn't help but smile.

She had shown up, pounding like a steelworker on his door at _nine AM_, holding a box of Clairvoyant's Creme Crumpets under one arm _like she thought that would smooth over the blasphemy of the hour_. They both knew that Sirius would be initially irritated with her presumption that bringing him a _treat_ would allow her to act like a stampeding bicorn- bursting into his house at the crack of dawn to accuse him of being cross with her- and they both also knew that, in the end, the Crumpets would do the trick just fine.

He _was_ in fact avoiding her, and he found himself feeling bare in her unexpected presence.

"No'm not-," he said matter-of-factly through a strategically timed mouthful of crumpet.

She looked at him fiercely across his own dining room table, and there was a clear mixture of rejection, confusion, and _anger_ in her green eyes. Sirius could only look at them for a second before looking away, on the pre-tense of inspecting the box of Clairvoyant's. He was guilty at the thought of having put a small kind of _hurt_ in her eyes, but it also gave him a rushing sort of thrill to know that he _could_ put it there. It was some small, sorry confirmation that she cared for him too.

"Why," he asked sternly, much like a Professor -he was hoping to snap her into 'Lily-the-obedient-student-mode'; distract her from her determination to get to the bottom of the 'strain' on their friendship as of late-, "do they call them _Clairvoyant's_? Is it because you have to be blind to _not_ see that they are the Creme Crumpets of choice? Or is it because they make you _see_?"

He widened his eyes with the last word, gazing up at her with mysticism.

She glared at him.

"Sirius, I'm not joking! I'm-"

"My _dear._ The matters of the Third Eye are _never a joke_," he hissed in an apt impression of batty old Professor Vail. Then he cocked an eyebrow, "C'mon. For ten points to Gryffindor. Which is it."

She was looking at him like he was an absolute idiot, and he felt something inside of him cowering like an awkward teenager. He looked down at the scuffed table, refusing to meet her eyes, feeling panic rising slowly in his chest. They were past the age where he could joke his way out of participating in real conversations and have it be charming, and they both knew it. He didn't know what to do.

"Sirius," she said again, but her voice had softened like she knew he felt trapped, and was taking pity on him. The very tone of it when she spoke like that made him crack inside, and he wished she would just stay angry. "Please talk to me."

A warm touch was laid on his hand, and he felt suddenly dizzy with the adrenaline fueled head-rush it sent throbbing through his temples. A shuddering pleasure seemed to flow through his arm and down his chest at the contact, and his jeans were _actually_ growing uncomfortably tight. _At a touch of the hand. _It had taken him a considerable amount of focus and inner pep-talking to get himself _half_ this... ready to perform, with the witch he had brought home two nights ago.

He let out a silent shaky breath, feeling abruptly filled with frustration that _he_ could be sitting here like _this_, and on the other side of that touch, _she_ was sitting there feeling like she was doing nothing more out of the ordinary than nudging a distracted friend back to attention.

He didn't know how she could be so oblivious.

It was another pitfall of being a Black, no doubt. So engrained was his pride, so skilled was his secrecy, he could sit next to his closest friends with an inner war raging, and the most anyone might think was that perhaps Sirius seemed a bit peckish.

"_Sirius_. What is going on with you?!" Her voice was raised; an edge of desperation dancing around in its inflections. He felt the satisfaction and he didn't care. With a sudden wave of recklessness and resentment towards her for her own ignorance, he looked up at her with everything he had.

He let it fill the air between them, let it catch in her own eyes- let the years of lust and torment and heart-wrenching longing be written on his face for the smartest witch he had ever known to read.

_I fucking love you_. _And that is what's going on with me_._  
_

He let it say.

And then he raised his eyebrows cooly, feeling it all vanish like a neatly cast spell.

"My father died whilst you were away."

It wasn't a lie. He hadn't known if he was _going_ to tell anyone, but here was the perfect out. He didn't even feel guilty for using it as an excuse. _Dad would be proud of this sort of manipulation_. Sirius thought wryly. _Would have liked to see his son living out the Black legacy at last._

"Oh." Lily's eyes were round, as was her mouth. She looked shocked and mortified to have been acting so selfishly. And she looked deeply hurt for him. As your closest friend should.

Sirius smiled grimly and studied her eyes.

She was the smartest woman he knew, and her eyes held the smallest ounce of mis-trust. She had felt, if only for that instant, the truth. She _knew_ him. Better in some ways than even James did. She must know on some level- however afraid she was to admit it to herself- what the strange wall that sometimes existed between them _really_ was. She was a _woman_, and she _knew _him. She was wiser than James (and even Remus) in the realms of emotion, and did not simply write off moods and guards as fixed mathematics of one's personality. She must _know_ there was a reason.

He searched her eyes, feeling the silent conversation they were having- the standoff. She must _know_ how manipulative, how twisted, how pathetic he could be, despite his best efforts.

The purity of her soul always seemed to take seat in her eyes, mocking and soothing him in equal doses. He saw nothing but care as she looked at him now... but there _was_ that note of confusion. She wasn't sure what she had seen, in the rare candor of his face. He studied her, urged her not to forget.

Did she know?


	4. Family, Again

**4. Family, Again**

The air was a cold pregnant grey, but rain had not yet begun to fall.

Thank_ God_, because Sirius felt that the only thing that could possibly make this funeral more cliche, more unbearably pleasing to his mother's insatiable thirst for drama, was _rain_.

A heavy odor of pipe smoke, frankincense, and roses filled the dreary air, permeating the crisp morning with a thick-sickly-sweetness, and making his gag reflex twitch now and again. Handkerchiefs were whipped in and out of sight, and faint sniffs echoed in twos and threes around the small group clustered around the closed casket. All the usual.

Sirius sighed audibly, and saw his mother's waxy face turn sharply towards him. Her eyes were wide with the madness she was calling 'grief' today, and when he ignored her, she hissed his name furiously,

"_Sirius Orion Black."_

It felt like something slimy and cold had slithered up his back and into his spinal canal, just hearing her voice. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, with a polite smile, just to piss her off.

"_You dirty little blood-betraying brat," _she spat in a whisper behind her demurely raised handkerchief. This was one of her favorite things, his mum, leaning in to hiss obscenities at him in public, under the pretense of doing something motherly, "_you have brought enough shame and humiliation to this family already- I will not have you acting blasé at your own father's funeral."_

Sirius made sure his face was stony, taking a deep breath so as not to lose his temper. He had not seen his mother in three years, and her only concern today had been that he might do something to betray his differences from the family, and _embarrass_ her. As if everyone present wasn't already painfully aware of the differences between _them_, and the one lone man in their midst.

In appearances, nay, he was one of them. Tuxedo and dark dragon-hide cloak clad, he had even shaved and combed his hair back. In outfit he matched nearly every man there. In _face_, he matched half of them- his uncle was nearly his older double, his cousin Prewian was clenching an identical jawline, and across the casket, Bellatrix kept looking up at him with his own irises and lashes; smirking and once drawing a finger across her throat.

How strange it was to be here now.

He had always been the odd man out in his family, but how very _strange_ to be here amongst them now; a brief time-out from the battle, the most bizarre of reminders that _war_ was an illusion of their own making; playing-pretend left in the hands of adults who had outgrown their ability to see life's rules as just a silly game.

How very odd to know that if they were _anywhere else_, they would literally try to kill each other- him and everyone else here, without much of a second thought.

How very odd to feel that with the simple occurrence of a natural death, he could be standing suddenly in a circle with his enemies, feigning that they were family again.

He wondered how long he would have after the service ended, before this strange unspoken moral code would break, and Bellatrix _would_ try to kill him.

Two minutes and thirty-four seconds, as it turned out.


End file.
